


standing here with you (just trying to be honest)

by catching_paper_moons



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23678422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catching_paper_moons/pseuds/catching_paper_moons
Summary: He should be shocked by this turn of events; really, he should be surprised to see his ex-boyfriend standing in front of him, but somehow, a year removed from their whole epic breakdown, he can’t even find the energy to be anything. He swallows every word of any feeling other than apathy on his tongue, and takes a deep breath.“Dex, hey.”
Relationships: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter
Comments: 30
Kudos: 163





	standing here with you (just trying to be honest)

**Author's Note:**

> i started this a week ago when check please ended and now it's done. this is probably the fastest i've ever written anything. thanks to ang for reading this and telling me she was ready to be hurt. i promise this does end happily. and i love these boys more than anything (all of them!)!!!
> 
> title from niall horan's "still"

It’s 9 pm on a Wednesday night and there’s a knock on the door.

Only a small number of people would be knocking on Derek’s door this late at night, and since he’s reasonably certain it’s none of them, he’s intrigued. He moves to get it, then shakes his head, thinking better of it, and folds himself back into the corner of the couch, picking up his manuscript again. The knocking resumes.

“Who the fuck could you be?” he mutters under his breath, then a beat later, just a bit louder, “Just a second!” He stands, shaking soreness from each leg after they’d been sedentary for so long, and rolls his neck, his joints cracking as he moves. He ambles toward the door, pulling his sleeves over his hands, and unlocks it, opening it quickly.

He blinks.

“Um. Hey.” 

He blinks again. Because he should be shocked by this turn of events, really, he  _ should  _ be surprised to see his ex-boyfriend standing in front of him, but somehow, a year removed from their whole epic breakdown, he can’t even find the energy to be  _ anything. _ He swallows every word of any feeling other than apathy on his tongue, and takes a deep breath.

“Dex, hey.”

—

_ 2 years ago _

“You’re drunk,” Derek giggles against Dex’s mouth, and Dex pushes away from him, and then, realizing what he’s done, whines a little, reaching back out for him. “Willy P, light of my life, you are  _ so  _ drunk.” 

“And you,” Dex slurs, booping Derek’s nose. It startles a laugh out of him, which makes Dex smile blindingly. “You are  _ cute,  _ and not helping me up the... “ He twirls his hand around, pointing at the stairs, and Derek snorts.

“What’s the word for it, honey?” he asks, a bit patronizing, but mostly fond. “Those things that take you up to the second floor, or maybe down to the basement, depending on your mood.”

Dex frowns, and it’s hard to find it anything but adorable. “Stairs,” he moans dejectedly. Derek stifles another laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of Dex’s head, and heaves him toward said stairs. “Sometimes I think I made a mistake, moving out.”

Derek pretends he doesn’t hear it over the noise of the kegster, instead moving Dex into more of a standing position. “Alright, work with me here, okay?” Dex, ever a helper, tries his best, and they move up the stairs slowly. 

It’s not like they’ve never talked about it. It being Dex moving out. They have. And they agreed that it was probably better for them, in the long run. They wouldn’t have gotten together last year if Dex  _ hadn’t  _ moved out, and they both know it. Still, something flutters angrily in Derek’s chest at Dex’s statement, said with such nonchalance that he  _ knows  _ Dex won’t even remember it in the morning. And that’s the fucking kicker, isn’t it, that Dex will wake up with a raging hangover because something got him upset enough to get drunk tonight, and instead of talking to Derek about it he decided to drink it off, and now Derek will be in an anxiety spiral and—

They should talk about it.

Derek deposits Dex in the bottom bunk, and Dex whines. “What?” Derek mutters, distracted, trying to pull Dex’s shoes off. 

“You’re being quiet,” Dex says.

“Hm.” Derek gets a shoe off, then the next one, and pulls off his own pants, crawling into bed next to Dex. “I’m tired.”

“Is that it?” Dex’s legs get tangled in the blankets, which makes Derek laugh, but eventually, Dex’s fingers brush down the slope of his nose, and he presses a kiss to Derek’s lips. Derek lets his eyes shut slowly, savoring the feeling of Dex’s calloused fingertips brushing across his skin. “Nursey. Derek.”

“That’s me,” he says, a bit stupidly.

Dex laughs, a bright thing. Derek could hear that sound forever. “I love you.”

Derek leans in, presses a kiss to Dex’s lips, smiles into his mouth. He leaves a trail of kisses down Dex’s neck. “I love you, too.”

—

_ now _

Thunder claps, and Dex jumps, not expecting the sound. Derek blinks again. “Did you, uh.” He looks at Dex’s appearance: disheveled, hair dripping wet, clothes clinging to his body, skin pale. He doesn’t have as many freckles as he did before, or was the last time he saw him really summer, at Ransom and Holster’s wedding? Dex pushes wet hair out of his eyes, looking at Derek. It’s not expectant, or melancholy. Just blank. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh.” Dex seems to remember where he is, suddenly. A flash of lightning illuminates his face; are those  _ dark purple circles  _ under his eyes? “I, um. I was out with some friends.” Derek notices him start to shiver, and a little part of him breaks. 

“Why don’t you come in?” he offers, and internally cringes. This feels like every stupid break up/make up romance novel, but his heart aches at the sight of a clearly exhausted and cold William Poindexter, whose face changes from blank to immensely grateful in one fell swoop. 

“Oh. Are you sure?” Dex wraps his arms tighter around himself, and Derek sighs.

“Don’t make me change my mind. I’ll give you my heated blanket, too.”

“Well, then.”

He leads Dex in, and he hears Dex’s breath hitch, and he knows why; it’s not at  _ all  _ different from when Dex didn’t renew on their lease last March. In fact, the set up is exactly the same, minus the—

“—pictures,” Dex is saying, his voice hoarse. “The ones that Jack took?”

“Hm?” 

“Where are the pictures?” Dex asks again, and Derek shrugs. He pushes Dex toward his bedroom, and when Dex stops in his tracks, Derek sighs. 

“You still have pajamas here,” he bites out. “In the top drawer. I’ll go make tea.”

He leaves a dripping wet Dex standing in his room, probably confused, and walks briskly to the kitchen. He moves methodically, filling the kettle and pulling out two mugs. He blinks at the baby blue one he pulled down; it’s Dex’s, a leftover that he just hadn’t had the heart to purge when Dex had taken his stuff. He remembers it like it was yesterday, the boxes piling up, various items filling them, but not the mug. (“So I’ll have something to use when I visit,” Dex had said, kissing Derek once, twice, three times. He’d tasted like Derek’s Juicy Fruit, and he’d wondered when Dex had stolen a piece.)

He leans against the counter, sighing heavily as the rain picks up. 

**to: Ransom, 9:24 pm**   
it is MONSOONING out   
also, dex showed up at my apartment. i let him in. 

**from: Ransom**   
Sorry Dex showed up at your apartment??????   
Was he out in this? Is he okay? Are YOU okay?

He’s not sure how to respond.

He hears Dex’s footsteps padding down the hallway toward the kitchen, and he turns around, a tight smile on his face. Dex stops, eyes wide, and he looks at the mug, and suddenly, as quickly as he had come in, he turns around, walking toward the couch. Derek sighs. “Do you want oolong, green, or chamomile?” he asks, loud enough that Dex startles, looking up from his phone. He blinks, shaking his head, and standing. 

“I can get it.”

“Or you can sit back down, and I’ll get it for you.” Derek fixes him with a look, and Dex lowers himself back down onto the sectional. “So? Pick your poison.”

Dex snorts. “Green is fine, thanks.”

Derek lets it steep the full 3 minutes before he brings it out; just another procrastination tactic he’s employing to stay away from the couch as long as he can. He carries the mug over, setting it on the coffee table in front of Dex. He realizes with a start that Dex is sitting on the same side of the couch he used to sit on. The side of the couch he had sat on when Derek had asked him what the fuck they were doing. The side he sat on when he’d drunkenly told Derek he wanted to marry him. The side he sat on when he and Derek—

Derek shakes his head. “I’m just gonna... eschew decorum, for a minute.”

“Okay.” Dex picks up his mug, gingerly taking a sip, wincing as he swallows. 

“Why are you here?” He tries to have it come out as even keeled as possible, but a bitter edge seeps in, and Dex flinches minutely, blinking as he takes another sip. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s always nice to see your old bestie—” at that, a sarcastic snort.  _ At least he still has a sense of humor  _ “—but I have to say I was a little shocked to see you standing at my door. How’d you even get in?”

“First of all, Stan still knows me,” Dex protests, and Derek laughs, a bit humorlessly.

“That’s what you took issue with?”

Dex smiles awkwardly. “But I... yeah. I know I just showed up. I was out with friends. Um. In New York.” At that, Dex sets his cup down like it’s burned him. Maybe it did. “And I just. You got brought up? And I realized I didn’t know anything about you, anymore. Not that I should. But we left everything pretty fucked up, you know? And…” He trails off, pulling at his hair. Water runs down his wrists, and Derek stares, mesmerized. Dex looks over, then, catching Derek’s eye. “And I came here to apologize. Not... you deserve it, obviously, after everything. Um. And it didn’t feel right to do it over the phone.”

Derek blinks and lets Dex’s words wash over him. He takes a sip of his tea—it’s a perfect temperature—and he exhales, long and slow. “You came to apologize,” he says quietly, and Dex nods. “Okay. So?” He gestures, and thunder booms outside. Dex jumps again, and Derek shakes his head. “Did you drive here?” Another nod. “You’re not driving back in this. Plus it’s late. Just take the couch.”

“I...  _ Nursey.”  _ Dex looks pained, and Derek shrugs. “I can leave—”

“I’m tired,” Derek starts, and Dex shuts his mouth. A small part of him feels vindicated, but another, bigger part of him just feels  _ sad _ . “But I want to hear what you have to say, so. Sleep here. I’ll give you the heated blanket.” He turns, quickly, feelings softening as he turns back. “Just relax. I won’t kill you in your sleep or anything.”

He moves slowly toward his room, turning off the lights on his way. He opens the hall closet and throws the heated blanket at the back of Dex’s head. There’s a muffled, “ow,” which Nursey stifles a grin beneath his hand at. He turns back, looking at the glow from Dex’s phone. He wonders, briefly, if he’s texting his sisters or his mom, and then shakes his head, shutting the door softly behind him.

—

_ 5 years ago _

They lost the championship.

It was Jack’s last chance to go out as a hero and they fumbled it. And it’s not... it’s been a few days, and it’s not anyone’s fault, really, but... Derek feels like it is. So he leaves his dorm room at 10 pm, and he just walks all the way to Faber.

He’s sitting in the top most seat when he hears a muffled noise behind him. When he turns, there’s a sheepish Chowder and a red-in-the-face Dex, looking at him, stumbling into a standing position. His brows furrow. “Uh, hey?”

“Hi, D.” Chowder walks first, lowering himself into the seat on Derek’s right. He wraps an arm around Derek’s bicep and leans his head on his shoulder. Derek sighs, loudly. Chowder frowns, and Dex slips in on Derek’s left. “Are you okay?”

“Ch’yeah. Are any of us?” he muses.

Dex snorts. “Maudlin.”

“Big word for the big man,” Derek bites back, and Dex opens his mouth, but then shuts it. “Do you have something to say?”

“Nursey,” Chowder says, but Dex shakes his head.

“I don’t,” he says, firm, leaving no room for questions. “I’m just checking up on a friend.” Derek blinks, and Dex puts his hand on Derek’s knee, squeezing it. 

Derek chokes out a wet laugh. “Who, me?”

“No, Chowder,” Dex deadpans, and the floodgates open.

Big, fat tears roll down Derek’s cheeks as he heaves a sob. Chowder presses further into him, burying his face into Derek’s neck. Dex rests his chin on Derek’s shoulder, and rubs a hand up and down his back. Derek sobs and sobs until he’s got nothing left in him, and then he sobs some more. “You’re okay,” Chowder whispers. “You didn’t have to try and hold it together for us.”

But he  _ did,  _ is the thing; Derek always has to hold it together so other people don’t need to. He can’t be the one in a mood when other people are struggling more, can’t be the one crying when other people have more on their plates. But he keeps crying, and he keeps letting Chowder and Dex hug him, and hold him, and be there for him.

The tears eventually subside, and give way into hiccups. “Are—are we—” he starts, and Chowder shushes him. He takes a deep breath, and then exhales, sniffling. He turns to look at Dex, who raises an eyebrow. “Are we really friends?” he asks, small and timid. He hates the way it sounds. 

Dex rolls his eyes, though. “Dude. Who else gets to lay into me so aggressively I lose it on everyone?” Chowder giggles, nervous-sounding, but it gets an actual belly laugh out of Derek, who knocks his shoulder into Dex’s, feeling his stomach flutter. “Of course we are.” 

Derek exhales again, shaky, and leans back. Chowder and Dex go with him, and they stare at the ice, curling into each other. “Will you just stay here with me?” he asks.

“Of course,” Chowder answers, no hesitation. 

“What else are friends for?” Dex says quietly, and Derek leans back feeling safe, okay to just be. Maybe Samwell is a good idea.

—

_ now _

Derek wakes with a jolt, heart pounding. He looks at his clock—  _ 3 am—  _ and he sighs, rising slowly. The rain is still coming down. He wonders, belatedly, if Boston can flood, and just how badly it might if the rain never stops. Is this what climate change is?

Rain used to put him to sleep. When he was young, thunderstorms would lull him into an almost meditative state. His mothers thought it was sweet, the way rain calmed him. He listens to it fall, picks up his manuscript and walks to the guest room. He climbs into the window nook and pulls out a book from the bench, folding into himself. He looks out the window onto the street outside. The rain is angry, falling fast and hard; it pelts the window in a way that’s both calming and startling, and Derek underlines a sentence in his manuscript, sticking the pen cap in his mouth. There’s a rustling noise, and then a bump into the wall.

“Ow,” he hears, and he stifles a laugh. He doesn’t stifle it well enough, because Dex pokes his head into the guest room and startles at the sight. “I didn’t know you’d be in here.”

Derek smiles a little, and catches Dex’s eye. “It has the—”

“Window nook, yeah.” Derek suppresses a shiver at the hoarseness in Dex’s voice, and reminds himself, gentle but firm— _ he’s your ex _ . He nods at the open area where there should be a bed, but instead sits haphazard textbooks and boxes. “No bed, yet?”

“Surprisingly,” he starts, holding up his manuscript, “not my biggest priority.” He sighs, setting it aside, and gestures for Dex to come in—he does, sitting in the middle of the floor. “Can’t sleep?”

“The couch is really comfortable,” he says like there’s a  _ but  _ coming. He pauses.

“You’d know,” Derek mutters, and Dex runs his fingers through his hair, ignoring the bait. Derek wonders belatedly when Dex got so good at avoiding arguments instead of starting them. 

“I haven’t been sleeping.” Dex shrugs, picking at a ball of dust on the floor. He rubs it between his fingers absentmindedly. “Like, at all. I just. Sleep for like two hours and then I can’t sleep anymore.” He stops, and Derek thinks maybe he’s been going to therapy. Even when they’d been living together, Dex had never been open like this. “And... I saw a light on. So I looked in.”

Derek hums, resting his chin on his knee. “So—”

“Can I apologize? For how I left things?” Dex says, cutting him off. “I just—sorry, you were saying something, and I totally steamrolled.”

“Oh. It’s okay.” Derek shrugs, tugging his sleeves over his hands. “I’m all ears.”

Dex shuts his mouth, then; it’s like he hadn’t expected to get this far. The image of an adrenaline-spurred Dex is making him want to laugh, because Dex could be spontaneous but he was never impulsive, and driving three hours to apologize to your ex when you don’t live in the same city  _ definitely  _ qualifies as impulsive. And he’s sitting in the middle of the guest room floor, kicking up dust, and trying to work through an apology he hasn’t really thought of. And that is truly hilarious to Derek.

But he digresses.

Dex tugs on the ends of his hair. Derek wants to hold his hands, and then tamps down on that, because, seriously. He’s been single for a year, and he’s been doing well, okay? He really has. But... he’s always had a soft spot for Dex.

“What good is an apology if you can’t show your changed behavior?” Dex asks, and it’s such a blunt question that Derek almost falls out of the window nook.  _ Almost.  _ The rain keeps falling. “That’s rhetorical. I just... I’m not good at words the way you are. But I think that the way I left things wasn’t fair to you. And I’m sorry for that. When you... you asked me what we were doing, and I didn’t know how to answer, and I was stupid. And I’m sorry.” Dex shakes his head. “That was a terrible apology.”

“It was something,” Derek says, soft. It’s a gentle dismissal, but he thinks Dex gets the point. “Thank you, anyway.”

Dex nods, moving to stand, but Derek shakes his head. “What?”

“You can stay in here if you can’t sleep,” Derek offers.

Dex stays.

—

_ 3 months ago _

A box looms threateningly on the kitchen table. Derek stares it down. It’s taped to hell, and stuffed with enough paper and packing peanuts that anything valuable in there could  _ not  _ break. Maybe Derek should’ve packed his heart in there, since... well.

Dex was coming to pick up the last of his stuff. 

When Dex texted him and asked if he could come up this weekend to get the rest of his things that he wanted, Derek hadn’t even known where to start. (“Like  _ what?!”  _ he’d yelled over the phone. “Your three pairs of boxers and your stupid mixing spoon?!” Which wasn’t fair to the mixing spoon. He’d used it to bake many a sadness snickerdoodle.) But eventually he’d gathered the contraband; Dex’s Bruins sweatpants, the mixing spoon,  _ four  _ pairs of boxers, and his SMH hoodie. The hoodie was what he was saddest to part with, because that hoodie had gotten him through truly rough nights where the only respite from not crying was panicking, and the only respite from not panicking was calling one of his mothers or Chowder at four in the morning to talk him off a ledge. (Once, when none of them answered, he’d called Shitty, and Shitty had given a filibuster on the history of whale hunting in Alaska, which had finally lulled Derek in to a long enough sleep that he woke up to 50 unanswered calls from Chowder, and one from his mama. He’d never called Shitty again for that.)

He grabs a sharpie from the pen drawer, and write’s  _ Dex’s Stuff  _ in his loopy scrawl, and he takes off, shutting and locking the door behind him. He’d initially thought he would have to be there but Dex had reminded him he had to return his spare key, to which Derek was at once eternally grateful and also having a breakdown over. He walks the quick mile and a half to Ransom and Holster’s townhouse, and knocks, blowing hot air into his hands and rubbing them together.

“Stop buying fingerless gloves,” Holster says in lieu of a greeting.

“Never,” Derek grins, and lets himself be pulled into a hug. 

He spends the whole afternoon on their couch. He writes, he eats a fantastic grilled cheese, and gets lots of cuddles from their puppy, Marina. (“She loves you!” Ransom coos, taking a million photos of where she’s curled up on Nursey’s lap. Holster grumbles something about never getting that treatment, and Ransom sighs. “From me or Marina?” Holster hits him with a pillow.) He finishes a scene, finally, and when he stands up to celebrate, he finds he has 8 missed texts and a missed call from Dex. He rolls his eyes, but he swipes on the call anyway—Dex picks up after the first ring. 

“Do you know if Stan is home?” he asks without preamble. Derek shakes his head, and then sighs.

“No, I don’t know if Stan is home. Just slip the spare key into his mailbox, or, better yet, slide it under my welcome mat. No one’s going to try and get in.” He’s proud of himself for the way he doesn’t refer to it as theirs, as he’s been prone to do. It’s just  _ his,  _ now; better get used to it.

“Oh, okay. Are you sure? I don’t want someone to, like, break in? Or something?” Derek can almost see the way Dex is chewing on his lip, and he rolls his eyes. “Like, you could—”

“I’m at Ransom and Holster’s, right now, and I’m not coming back just to pick up the key when I’m staying for dinner.” Derek’s voice is firm, and his conviction surprises even himself; he blinks, shaking his head. “Leave it under the mat.”

“Are you mad at me right now?” Dex asks. He sounds incredulous; like it never occurred to him that Derek could be mad at him. Derek wants to laugh. He doesn’t. “Seriously?”

“Leave the key under the welcome mat,” Derek says again, and Dex grunts; underneath that, though, Derek can hear the rustling of the welcome mat being lifted. He feels tears pool in his eyes. “Thanks. Sorry I couldn’t be there. I was... dog sitting.”

“For Marina,” Dex says, like he knows. Maybe he does. “Ransom said you would be.”

He feels like the rug’s been pulled from underneath him, suddenly. “Oh.” He looks over at Ransom, who’s been there for him in the past few months more times than he can count, and he feels betrayed. “You talked to Ransom?”

“We talk,” Dex confirms in a way that only adds more questions for Derek. “Anyway. I should be heading back to New York, I guess.”

“Do you like it there?” Derek blurts out, and he can feel Holster’s eyes on him. “In New York?”

Dex is quiet for a long time, so long that Derek checks to see if he’s hung up. “It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t really know how to navigate it for a bit. Um. Your moms were really helpful, at first. I haven’t talked to them in a while though.”

“They’re doing good,” he says, and Dex makes a noise of surprise.

“You mean  _ well?”  _ he corrects, and it makes Derek laugh, a little. He feels a tear on his cheek. “I’m glad to hear it.”

They’re quiet for a while, just listening to the other person breathe. Derek thought he never understood what heartbreak felt like; he thinks it might be this. Knowing the person you love so much is on the other end of the phone and you’ll never get to see them, hold them, kiss them again. Knowing they’re so close to you but in order to heal you have to hang up the phone because they don’t want you back. Hearing your breath sync like it did when you slept, knowing their heartbeats are synced, too, and knowing they’ll be out of sync soon.

“I always thought you fit better in Boston,” Derek says quietly. Dex hums. “Just... you’re such a Masshole, you know?”

Dex chuckles. “I’m from  _ Maine.”  _

_ “I miss you,”  _ Derek doesn’t say. “Thanks for coming to grab your stuff so I didn’t have to mail it,” he says instead.

“Course,” Dex says. “Uh. Well. It was nice. To hear your voice.”

“Yeah, same.” His voice breaks a little. Dex has the good grace not to mention it.

“Bye, D. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You, too,” he says into the phone just a beat too late. His hands are shaking as he lowers his phone. He walks to the couch, sitting down hard, and he covers his face with his hands. He hears a whine, and Marina wriggles her way into his lap, licking at his face. He buries his face in her fur, holding her as he cries, and he feels someone sit next to him and rest a hand on his back.

“You did good,” he hears Holster say. “You probably talked to him a little too much. But you did good.”

“I— I still—” he gasps.

“I know,” Holster says. “I know.”

It’s silent after that.

—

_ now _

Derek wakes up with his head against the guest room window, covered by a blanket. He blinks slowly, stretching out, watching the rain fall still. He clutches the blanket in his hands, squinting at it when he realizes he doesn’t remember getting it in the middle of the night, and he wonders where it could’ve come from. 

He looks to the middle of the floor, where he last remembers Dex being, but it’s just an empty space. He frowns, standing slowly, and makes his way toward the kitchen; he bumps into Dex on the way. 

“Oh, shit,” he says, reaching out to steady one of them; which one? He’s not quite sure. “Sorry, Dex.”

“No, that’s totally my bad,” Dex says, staring at Derek’s hand on his wrist. Derek removes it. “Um. Sleep well?”

“Okay,” he shrugs. “Where’d you go?”

“I, uh.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I took the spare key from the bowl and got coffee a few hours ago. I brought you a bagel and I put the cream cheese in the fridge.”

Derek blinks, and Dex opens his mouth like he’s going to apologize, but Derek shakes his head. “Salt bagel?”

Dex nods. “Chive and onion cream cheese,” he answers. Derek grins.

They walk toward the kitchen together, and Derek watches Dex fold himself back into the corner of the sectional, head flopping onto the pillow as he scrolls through his phone, thumbs flying across the keyboard. Derek thinks about how many typos are in the message, and he laughs to himself. He toasts the bagel, sitting up on the counter while he waits, and stares at Dex.

Dex, who came here to apologize. Dex, who sat in the guest room with him last night while neither of them could sleep. Dex, who... is falling asleep as he stares. “Dex?” he calls out, softly. Dex groans, turning his head. The rain is still pelting. “You falling asleep on me?”

Dex hums. “I only slept like three hours last night.”

“Do you have the heated blanket?” Dex holds it up. “Okay. It can get kind of—”

“Drafty, yeah, D. I remember.” He yawns, curling into the couch. “Sorry I’m still here.”

Derek’s heart clenches. “I’m not,” he mumbles, and his toaster spits out the bagel. “Just relax, dude. We can talk later.”

“You sure?” Dex says, voice thick with sleep. 

“Yeah, Poindoodle,” he says, too fond. “Just sleep.” He watches the tension seep out of Dex’s shoulders, and then he exhales as Dex’s body relaxes into a restless sleep. He watches, slowly, as Dex’s chest rises, falls, slowly but surely, and his eyes prickle with tears.  _ What the fuck? _

The thing is. The thing about this is. They’ve been here before. A year ago, two years ago, three years ago. Derek has watched Dex sleep many times. The slack expression, the soft snores, the smooth features. It’s so domestic, is the thing. It’s domestic and it hurts Derek’s heart because he misses this. He misses them, he misses the way he’d cover Dex with a blanket, the way he’d make eggs for him in the morning, and they were always too runny but Dex liked it better like that. The way he knew Dex’s pizza order by heart, he knew exactly where to put things in their cabinets because Dex liked it better that way. He misses calling Dex  _ Will,  _ and he misses him. 

He misses him.

He still loves him.

His breath hitches as he sinks to the floor, the top of Dex’s head falling out of sight, and the moment he hits the floor, he cries. They’re silent, snotty sobs, the tears falling as fast as the raindrops on the window, and he buries his head in his hands, hunched over his phone, where it’s open to a text from Holster, and he cries. And he keeps crying. Because despite everything, despite him trying to heal, trying to move the fuck on from this... he can’t. 

He still loves him.

—

_ 8 months ago _

A cacophony of cheers erupts as Derek enters the restaurant, and he jumps, which makes everyone at the table laugh. He smiles, too, as Chowder greets him with a big hug. “Hey, C,” he mumbles into Chowder’s dress shirt. “Missed you.”

Chowder pulls back, a smile on his face. “I missed you, too. How have you been?” 

It’s an innocent enough question, one that he answers with a “fine, you?” But Chowder knows. Chowder’s seen the aftermath. He’s not—hasn’t been fine for a long while, now. He spots bright red hair next to Ollie (or is that Wicky?) and blinks. He has to be fine. Has to be. Because Ransom and Holster are getting married on Saturday, and the rehearsal dinner is tomorrow, and tonight is just a get together with the boys, so of course. Of course.

Of course Dex would be here.

Chowder leads him to the table, where Jack passes him on his way to Bitty, cupping his shoulder. “Hey, Nursey,” he says, Quebecois accent softer after years of living in the states. “How are you?”

“Good,” he says, and if he doesn’t look down the table, he finds himself meaning it. 

Ransom and Holster arrive to a great deal of fanfare, with them more cheers and more laughter and more alcohol. Someone orders a round of shots for the table, which everyone decides to do, much to the surprise of Shitty. “Jack, you’re gonna do it with us?” he exclaims.

“Well, when in Boston,” he says, which Derek  _ knows  _ he knows isn’t the expression, but it makes everyone laugh nonetheless. Bitty looks at him with such love that Derek has to look away, turning to Tango to ask him a question after they’ve taken the shots.

“What?” Tango asks.

“I said, how’s Ford?” Tango blushes bright red at this, which makes Derek cackle. He doesn’t see Lardo here, which surprises him, until he hears Chowder say she, Caitlin, and Ford will be making their grand appearance soon. “So she’ll be here?” He raises an eyebrow, and Tango’s blush reaches further down his neck.

“She’s uh.” He takes a deep sip of his vodka soda. “She’s my date. To the wedding.”

“Tango!” he exclaims, and Tango takes another sip. “You stud. I had no clue!”

“Yeah, well.” Tango takes a breath, running his hand through his hair. “I heard they had to rearrange seating because of your situation.”

Derek frowns. “I really don’t think they did. The same number of people are still coming to the wedding. It’s just—” he cuts himself off, and chances a look down the table. Dex is laughing with Shitty and Whiskey, and his heart aches. “My date and I aren’t going together anymore.”

Tango, for once, doesn’t ask a question, just nods. The silence stretches between them, not uncomfortable or anything, and Derek takes several long sips of his beer in an effort to corral his feelings. He wants to know... he doesn’t know that Tango and Whiskey are still close, but if they are, he wants to know what Dex has told Whiskey, if anything. Because the whole... the whole thing was a mess.

Still is a mess. 

He lets Tango talk at him for a while, and Wicky (Ollie? He wishes they were wearing hats so he could tell them apart) laughs at some of the things Tango says. It’s soothing, the sound of his rambling, and he could almost be back in the Haus living room, listening to Tango ramble, Chowder on the other side of him, and his head on Dex’s shoulder. Only, Dex is far away from him, not looking in his direction at all, and Derek is an adult, and they’re not together anymore, and he has to live with that. 

He stands, excusing himself, and makes his way toward the bar. If he’s going to get through tonight, he’s absolutely going to need something stronger than beer, but when he leaves the table, he realizes Dex is next to him. 

“Oh,” he says, and Dex looks over, surprise on his features. “Um.”

“Hey,” Dex says, and his face is neutral, polite, in a way it never had been before. Usually Dex was all or nothing with him. “I was just going to grab some water.”

“So responsible,” Derek mumbles, and Dex snorts. “Uh, are y—”

“We’re gonna be okay this weekend, right?” Dex asks, and Derek’s first reaction is to be offended, anger blooming through his chest. “Not like... I just. It’s the first time I’ve seen you, since.” And Derek knows that, he is  _ very  _ aware, but something in Dex’s tone has him listening, so he doesn’t interrupt, for once. “And I just want Rans and Holts to have a good wedding, and I know you want that, and I don’t want... our, I don’t know. Bullshit? For lack of a better word, to ruin anything. So like. Pact to not ruin the wedding?”

“As if I would ruin the wedding,” Derek scoffs, and Dex rolls his eyes, but there’s very little fondness, just irritation. 

“I mean let’s not pick fights, okay? I won’t fight with you, you don’t fight with me. Cool?” Dex looks nervous, and Derek takes a deep breath, letting Dex’s words seep in. He is, though he’s loath to admit it, correct, in that their bullshit (for lack of a better word. Seriously. They should find one.) could take them both over, as it has been known to do at times previous. “D, come on.”

And the nickname is what gets him, and he sighs, finally. “Ch’yeah, dude. Pact to not ruin the wedding. Got it.” Dex sticks his hand out, stupidly, and Derek snorts, shaking it. “I won’t poke the bear, or anything.”

Dex blushes. “The—I’m not— Nursey!” he sputters, which makes Derek laugh more. “You suck.”

“You’d know,” he says, and Dex makes an offended face, but before he can say anything, Derek’s drink arrives, and he grabs for it, walking back to his seat with the determination of a soldier. He really,  _ really  _ wants this to be a good weekend for Ransom and Holster, and he really,  _ really  _ does not want to get drunk and ruin it. So. He’ll be good. He won’t pick a stupid fight. He might make dumb jokes, but Dex promised not to get offended, basically, so he thinks he’s good. He sits down next to Chowder as the girls arrive, finally, and he feels like he’s home.

More than a few drinks later, he stumbles into an Uber with Tango, Ford, and Whiskey on their way to the hotel. “Did you know I  _ didn’t  _ know your name was Derek for, like, a really long time?” Tango asks, and Whiskey laughs loudly. 

Derek gasps, and Ford giggles. “How long, Tango?  _ Please _ tell me you figured it out after I graduated.” Whiskey gasps out another laugh. 

“No, it was before!” Tango protests, and Ford mumbles something. “No, Ford, don’t—”

“It was the semester you graduated, though,” Ford says through her bright laugh. Derek’s face hurts from smiling. “I called you Derek Nurse and Tony said ‘who?’ and I thought he was joking.”

Derek and Whiskey both scream with laughter, and Tango looks put out, but he’s got a smile on his lips, and Ford pecks him on the cheek, so Derek is sure all will be forgiven in a few minutes. He’s glad he’s got this time, right now, with the Tadpoles, because he’s really been neglecting most of the team, especially them because, well.

A lot had happened. Too much had happened, and they had all texted him, and he had never answered, and he felt guilty for that. But it seems like they don’t blame him, or at least, they’re nice enough to still be his friend, and, well. 

He’s grateful for that. Because he didn’t want people picking sides. He wanted things to stay as normal as possible, for nothing to change as much as could be helped. And he thinks he’s succeeded. 

They pull up to the hotel, profuse thanks spilling from their mouths, and they’ve arrived at the same time as Lardo, Shitty, and Dex, who are huddled together, talking close. “Hey, Dex, c’mon,” Whiskey says, and Dex’s head snaps up. “Our room awaits.” Derek watches as Dex claps Shitty on the shoulder and kisses the top of Lardo’s head, waving at all of them as he heads upstairs. Lardo frowns.

“What?” Shitty says, and she shrugs.

“Didn’t know they were staying together.”

“Who?” Derek hears from behind him, and there’s Chowder and Cait, flushed and beautiful as ever.

“Whiskey and Dex,” Ford says, from where she’s tucked into Tango’s side. “Whiskey didn’t want to pay full price for a room, so he was gonna stay with us, but—”

“Dex offered to just change his reservation from a king to two doubles,” Tango finishes. He doesn’t say what Derek  _ knows _ they’re all thinking, which is that Dex’s reservation was for him and Derek, and Derek ended up shelling out for a completely new room. Which is fine. It didn’t break the bank or anything. “Which was super nice of him!”

“Extremely,” Shitty concurs, but he looks at Derek, who looks away, face hot. “Anyway, Larissa, my darling, up and away?”

“You’re so gross,” she replies, kissing the back of his palm. She looks at Derek, then, and jerks her head. “Goodnight, guys.” A chorus of goodnights follow them to the elevator, and Derek steps in with them, leaning against the wall clumsily. Shitty presses 11, and then looks to Derek.

“9,” he replies through a yawn, and the doors close.

It’s silent for a moment, and then the elevator starts up, and Lardo speaks. “Are you okay?” she asks, and Derek opens his eyes.

“What?”

“Are you okay?” she repeats. “Because Dex isn’t and I know you’re not but you’re both  _ acting  _ like you are and I’m so confused. What even—” She cuts herself off, thinking better of it.

He looks at the floor number.  _ 5. _ “Never better, Lards.” He smiles charmingly, to which she narrows her eyes. “Honestly.” The elevator dings, blessedly. “I’ll see you both tomorrow? For brunch?”

“Just me,” Shitty says, and Lardo picks at her cuticles, looking guilty. Derek frowns. “You, me, Holster, and Jack. Meet you downstairs at like 10?” Shitty says, pulling out his phone.

“Sure, guys. I’ll uh. See you.” The elevator closes, and Derek’s stomach turns over. He’s got a not so great feeling about this weekend.

—

_ now _

Shivering, Derek picks himself off his kitchen floor, and grabs his phone. When he unlocks it, there’s a novel’s worth of texts from Holster.

**from: Holster, 11:43 am**   
So Dex is there? You let him in, huh?   
J told me. Why didn’t you call?   
Is everything okay with you guys? Why’d he show up?   
Look. If it’s worth anything you should know that he’s been miserable in New York. Completely. I know one of his friends and his new roommate and they said he barely talks, hates his job, hasn’t been sleeping. He sees a therapist, and they get him to come out occasionally, but he’s a mess and I know you are too   
...   
Are you guys making out

Derek takes a shaky breath and looks over at his couch. Dex is still asleep, and his heart clenches—he feels, maybe, that he could be having a heart attack. His whole body hurts and suddenly the break-up feels so fresh, so raw, so new that it’s causing him physical pain. He’d tried for so long to bury it, but, as he always does, Dex brings out the most vulnerable emotions in him. 

**to: Holster, 12:09 pm**   
no we’re not making out jesus   
he said he came to apologize and then it rained a bunch and still is and i don’t want him driving in this   
he’s tried multiple times but i don’t think it’s come out right   
i want to hear him out

**from: Holster**   
That’s valid   
Love you, bro   
Text me if you need anything

Derek walks toward the couch, his legs feeling like jelly. He grabs the throw blanket and unfolds it, covering Dex with it, and then he moves to the opposite end of the couch and curls up. He takes a minute to look at Dex and remembers thinking, plain as day, that this man is the love of his life. He probably still is. He resists the urge to reach out and smooth Dex’s hair back, and he grabs the other blanket off the floor, wraps himself in it, and closes his eyes.

—

_ 8 months ago _

Brunch with Shitty, Holster, and Jack was fun, but Derek has a question that no one will answer for him. Why didn’t Lardo come? And for that matter, where was Bitty? 

He’d asked once, at the beginning, and Shitty had waved it off with a vague answer of “they were busy,” and even though Derek didn’t trust it, he left it alone. 

They’re walking through the picturesque downtown of Rehoboth Beach, and Derek snaps a million photos until he finds one with the right angle to post on his instagram story. Jack smiles. “I could teach you how to find a better angle,” he says, and Derek laughs.

“Yeah, but it’s about the journey,” Derek replies, and Jack shakes his head, smiling. They walk to the beach and they sit on the sand, sharing stories about their lives that they haven’t had time to update each other one, and they all smile and laugh and it’s nice. It’s really nice, honestly. It’s just hard for him. 

Because Shitty’s life update is that he and Lardo are engaged. They all whoop and cheer, and Derek is genuinely happy for him, he is. It’s also just that Jack and Bitty are so far along in the adoption process that their surrogate is due in two months. (“Really?!” Holster exclaims. “A  _ baby!”)  _ And Derek is overjoyed, because they’ll be the  _ best  _ fathers, he knows it. It’s also just that tomorrow Holster and Ransom are getting married, and they’ve gotten a townhouse in Boston that they’ll move into after the honeymoon, and Ransom will start his residency, and everything's coming up them. And Derek, well.

“I’ve got a book deal,” he says, quietly, and their faces light up.

“Seriously?” Jack asks. “Nursey. Derek. That’s  _ great.”  _

“Honestly, bro.” That’s Shitty. “You did it! A book deal! God, d’you have an agent then? Are you going to be a famous author on us? Another Samwell Hockey with a Wikipedia page.”

“Who’s the first?” Jack asks, and they all laugh. “Wait, me?”

“And Bitty,” Holster says. “And now Nursey!”

“We don’t  _ know  _ that.” Derek is proud of himself, honestly. But.  _ But. _

“You deserve this,” Jack says quietly. “You deserve to be happy.” The others murmur their agreement, and isn’t that the kicker.

He  _ does  _ deserve to be happy. He does. He just. Went and fucked it all up. But he won’t tell anyone that, so he thanks them profusely and they all stand, ambling to Jack’s jeep so that Holster and Shitty can get ready for the rehearsal dinner, and as he climbs in the back, he spots a bright red mop of hair coming out of one of the shops. Jack pulls away, but Derek sees it, clear as day: Dex and Ransom, leaning against the wall, laughing about something. And his heart aches yet again.

Because they  _ should  _ be adults about this. They should be able to see each other and not have a meltdown, the way Derek did last night when he sobbed himself to sleep, and he should be able to channel his jealousy at the seemingly sudden closeness of Whiskey and Dex into happiness for this weekend. They should be able to run into each other and their friends shouldn’t have to separate them for everyone’s sanity. He can handle being in the same vicinity as Dex. Truly.

Later, he texts Chowder and Cait, and they show up in his room and watch stupid wedding movies with him, and he feels sort of normal, except.  _ Except.  _

Cait stands, out of the blue. “I’m gonna go downstairs,” she announces, offering no other explanation. Derek wants to ask, but Chowder just smiles.

“Okay, love,” he says, and she kisses him goodbye. “Have fun!” 

“Bye, Cait,” he calls out half-heartedly. Chowder snuggles closer to him, and Derek’s struck with a longing for the Haus, for Samwell.  _ Four Weddings and a Funeral  _ plays quietly in the background, the scene where Hugh Grant’s ex screams at him for something; what it is Derek can’t remember. “She’s going to see Will, isn’t she.” He slips up with the name, and he makes a face, but Chowder just sighs.

“He’s lonely.” Chowder shrugs, picking at a piece of popcorn.

“He’s rooming with Whiskey,” Derek counters.

“He’s worried people are going to pick sides,” Chowder says.

“I don’t want them to, either,” Derek shoots back, and Chowder leans back against the pillows. Derek throws a piece of popcorn at Hugh Grant’s shitty ex. “I want Rans and Holts to have a good weekend.”

“They are.”

“They’re organizing shit so that Dex and I don’t run into each other.” Derek sits up, then, and he’s suddenly upset. “Like, you all think we’re not adult enough to handle ourselves? I figured out what this morning was. I’m mature, Dex is mature, just because we broke up doesn’t mean we’re going to cause a scene.” It’s one of the first times he’s said it out loud.  _ We broke up.  _ It feels terrible.

“No one thinks you are,” Chowder soothes, and Derek crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s been four months, Derek. No one’s expecting you guys to blow up, but you were together so much longer than you’ve been apart.” Chowder pushes his hair out of his eyes, sighing. “I love you guys. I want you both to be happy. I thought it was with each other, but I guess not. You’re my best friends, okay? Seriously. From the bottom of my heart. And am I a little sad that Dex doesn’t talk to me as much anymore? Yeah, definitely. But he’s trying to be... considerate of the fact that he knows you’ve talked to me about this. We just want you guys to be okay, too.”

Derek sniffles. (He does  _ not  _ want to cry.) He takes a shaky breath. “I love you, C. It’s shitty that Dex doesn’t talk to you as much.”

“We talked yesterday, before you showed up,” Chowder says. “He asked about you.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He wanted to know how you were doing. I told him about the book deal.” Chowder chews at his lip.

Derek takes a deep breath. “What did he say?” Chowder is silent for a long while. Derek swallows. “C?”

Chowder exhales. “That he’s super proud of you.”

Derek doesn’t say much, after that.

—

_ now _

Derek wakes up to the smell of fresh basil and tomatoes, and when he looks up, Dex is putting something in his oven. “Are you cooking?” he asks, and Dex jumps, slamming the oven door shut. 

“Uh.” He takes a deep breath, exhaling a laugh. “You had the ingredients for pizza dough, so. I’m making flatbread?”

Derek shakes his head. “Man, if you were anyone else, I’d probably kick you out for going through my kitchen.” Dex doesn’t laugh at that, but Derek stands up and gives him a smile. “As it stands, I’m not gonna kick you out.”

Dex swallows, relief seeping into his whole posture. “Thanks,” he says, sheepish. His neck is flushed. “Um, how’d you sleep?”

“Okay,” Derek answers. “You?”

“Slept longer than I have in a while,” Dex says, and Derek remembers, suddenly, what Holster and sent him.  _ He’s miserable, Nurse. Doesn’t sleep anymore.  _ He can see the exhaustion in his posture, the fatigue in his movements. Derek wants to give him a hug. “It’s 3 pm.”

Derek laughs. “Jesus.” It occurs to him that it’s a Thursday. “Do you have work? Like. Are you off or something?”

“Oh.” Dex blinks. “Uh, actually.” He sighs, turning to face Derek. He looks resigned. “I am off, but I put in my two weeks on Tuesday. And my lease is up next month, so.” He shrugs. “I’m moving back home.”

Derek gapes at him, mind running a mile a minute.  _ He hated his job.  _ He shakes his head. “Wasn’t that your dream job? Is everything okay?”

Dex stands up a little straighter. “Nothing about that job was a dream job.” 

There’s so much bitterness to his tone that Derek recoils. “Jesus, Dex. I just thought—”

“None of it was a dream when you were here and I was there,” he says, quiet enough that Derek could pretend not to hear it if he wants. Derek’s breath hitches, and Dex shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, Will—”

Dex shrugs. “It’ll be ready in 45.” He shoulders past Derek to the couch, and picks up his phone. “I’m gonna—”

“It’s raining, Will.” Derek’s voice is shaking. “You’re not going to walk in the rain. I’ll go in the window nook, okay? Just.” He sounds like he’s begging. He probably is. “Don’t leave.”

“It’s your apartment,” Dex says, but he sits on the couch anyway. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Derek asks, and Dex exhales, watery and sad.

“For leaving when you didn’t.” Dex doesn’t look at him, so Derek turns around. He walks into the guest room, shuts the door, and picks up his phone. It rings twice.

“Nursey?” Holster’s voice says. “Are you okay?”

—

_ 8 months ago _

The wedding, surprisingly, goes off without a hitch. 

The ceremony is beautiful; Bitty cries quietly into his hand, and Derek feels his eyes fill with tears as he sits next to Lardo, her small hand over his. Dex is in the same row, though further down; he thinks he sees him wipe a tear away, but he doesn’t know for sure. 

It is, over all, a beautiful celebration and he does, in the end, get wonderfully drunk, singing loudly with Shitty to “Party Rock Anthem” and then again with Ransom to “Skyfall.” 

(“Who made the playlist?” Bitty asks. “There’s not nearly enough Beyonce.”

“It’s not your wedding,” Chowder and Cait say at the same time.)

It’s a slower song, toward the end of the night, and he’s had a fun time, really, truly, but all the couples are together, and when he looks across the room, Whiskey and Dex are huddled together. He wonders what they’re talking about; if they’re hooking up. He knocks back the rest of his drink and heads outside, unlocking his phone and opening his photos app. He sits on a bench, and he scrolls to the bottom and clicks on a photo gallery titled “Will <3”, and just looks.

It’s got thousands of photos in it; even more live on his computer. At the top sits the first photo they ever took, and as he keeps scrolling, there’s photos of them from frog year, sophomore year, junior year... and then the first photo they ever took as a couple, where Derek’s nose and lips are pressed to Dex’s cheek, and Dex’s smile is so wide it’s almost blinding. He clicks on it, and hits delete. 

He keeps going; photos of them from Winter Screw their senior year, spring break senior year when they didn’t make the playoffs and they took a spontaneous road trip to Florida, that summer when they moved to Boston and into their first apartment. Photos of Will cooking, of him sleeping in Derek’s lap, of him crying at the end of  _ Coco,  _ of him hanging the lights on their Christmas tree. He deletes them all, one at a time, and sniffles, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He scrolls to the end and finds a picture of them at Ransom and Holster’s engagement party, and remembers clearly the sound of Lardo’s voice saying “that’ll be you one day! Probably soon!” and remembers Will pressing his lips to Derek’s temple and saying “I love you” in the softest, quietest voice, meant only for him. He drops his phone on the ground, letting the sobs overtake him.

“Nursey?” he hears, and it’s Holster. He swears under his breath, wiping the tears from his face, trying to get his breathing under control. He sits up straighter. “D, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “I’m fine.”

“Shit,” Holster says. “Nursey. I’m sorry.”

Derek sniffs again. “No,  _ I’m  _ sorry. It’s  _ your  _ wedding and I’m out here crying—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold it together.”

Holster doesn’t ask, just sits next to him. “We can talk tomorrow. Before Justin and I leave. For what it’s worth... “ He trails off, looking into the venue. “I don’t think you’re the only one having a terrible time.” 

And that breaks Derek all over again. His tears come harder and faster and he can barely hold them in, and Holster reaches over, pulling him into a tight hug, and Derek cries, harder than he cried the day Dex left, harder than the day he ended it. It’s just a gaping hole in his chest, and he wants someone to sew it shut, and he  _ really  _ wants that person to be Dex. 

Instead, he just keeps crying.

—

_ 11 months ago _

Derek’s sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands when the lock turns. “Hey, sweetheart,” Dex calls out. “I’m here.” He hears Dex kick his shoes off, hears him set down his bag. He pads toward the kitchen and stops in his tracks.

“Hi,” Derek croaks, and Dex inches forward.

“Hey,” he says, gentler this time. Suddenly, he’s close enough that he’s crouching in front of Derek, cupping Derek’s face in his hands. “Hey, my love. What’s wrong?”

Derek shakes his head, and Dex presses a kiss to his nose. Derek’s breath hitches. “What are we doing?” he asks. Dex tilts his head, his thumb running over Derek’s cheek. “What are we doing, here? We’re just, what, gonna be long distance until one of us cracks?”

“Until one of us cracks?” Dex asks, confusion lacing his voice. “D, what are you talking about?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Derek starts, voice gravelly, “we’re living in two separate states, we’re never together, you  _ left  _ me here because your dream job is in New York—”

“Okay, wait a second,” Dex says. He’s calm, but there’s a note of irritation. His thumb stills on Derek’s cheek. “You told me to go. I said I would stay here.”

“It was a pay raise!” Derek exclaims, and he knows he’s throwing Dex’s words back at him, but fuck if he’s not mad right now.  _ Really  _ fucking mad right now. “It was a pay raise, how could you  _ not  _ take it?”

“You didn’t want to come with me?” Dex removes his hands from Derek’s face, standing up. “You said to me that you weren’t leaving Boston. So I said I’d stay here, and you said I’d be stupid not to go.” 

See, Dex likes logic. Derek knows this. He’s working through this logically in his head, and Derek... Derek right now is nowhere near logic. He’s mad, mad that his boyfriend left and mad that he doesn’t get to go to bed next to him and wake up next to him, mad at  _ himself,  _ mostly, for telling his boyfriend to go. And he doesn’t know how to say that.

“I want you to be  _ here _ ! _ ”  _ Derek yells. “I want to go to sleep next to you and wake up next to you and kiss you every day when you come home from work but you’re in  _ New York.  _ You’re not  _ here.”  _ He’s breathing hard, and his voice is cracking, and Dex’s face is starting to contort in anger, but he’s working hard to hold it back, Derek can tell. 

“I’m here right now, sweetheart.” Derek shakes his head, and Dex sighs. “So come live in New York with me.” He sounds reasonable. Derek  _ hates  _ it. “We’ll talk to Stan, yeah? He’s kind, he’ll know what to do—”

“I don’t  _ want  _ to live in New York!” 

“Your parents are there, D!” Dex yells, and this... this is what Derek wants. He thinks maybe he’s being masochistic, but he doesn’t care. “I don’t know what to tell you! I can’t move back here right now! I signed a contract for two years! I can’t just leave!”

“So what?” Derek hisses. “So we just twiddle our thumbs for two fucking years? Until you crack and you can’t take it or I crack and I can’t take it? Well guess what. I can’t fucking  _ take  _ it, Will. I can’t.”

“What are you  _ talking _ about?” Dex sounds desperate and sad, and Derek closes his eyes, bracing himself on the counter. “What do you  _ mean  _ you can’t take it? Derek, there’s ways to work around this.”

“No,” he says, and Dex snaps his mouth shut. “No, I don’t think there are.”

Dex takes a step toward Derek, and Derek shakes his head. “D.”

“No.” Derek keeps shaking his head. He’s trying not to cry. “I can’t, Dex. I can’t take it anymore. You’re there and I’m here and I’m tired. I’m not leaving Boston. I... “ he trails off, breath hitching. “This is me cracking.”

Dex’s face crumples, and his breath hitches. “It’s been a month,” he says, his voice quiet and shaky. “Derek.”

Derek bites his lip, taking a deep breath. “I’m not built for long distance. And I’m not moving.”

“So that’s it?” Dex says. “That’s— that’s the end? You don’t want to try? You only came and visited me  _ once.”  _

“I told you I was busy!” Derek yells. He slams his hands on the counter. “Dex, seriously.” He deflates. “We haven’t been good in a while.”

“I thought you needed time.” Dex sounds small. “I thought... I thought we both needed time, to adjust, to get used to me being gone every week. I thought it was getting better.”

“Because you didn’t bother to  _ ask  _ if it was!” Derek knows that’s not fair, but he’s way past being fair. Long distance was one thing when it had an end date; this one didn’t. And he’s not compromising, but that’s his right. And he...

“Derek,” Dex says, voice breaking.

“I want to break up.” His voice sounds flat, robotic. “I want out. I can’t do this. This is me cracking.”

“You’re not serious.” Dex is backing up, though, and Derek exhales, long and shaky. “I love you, D. So much.”

“I love you, too,” Derek whispers, his voice cracking. He swallows the lump in his throat. “But I... I just.”

“But I’m not worth it,” Dex says. And Derek reaches out to say no,  _ god  _ no, that’s not it at all, that he’s just weak, but Dex is shaking his head. “Okay, Derek. Nursey. Okay. Alright.” He sniffles, moving for his bag he dropped at the front door. “Okay. I’m so fucking sorry, Nurse,” he says as he picks up his bag. “I’m so sorry I—”

“Please,” Derek interrupts. “Don’t be sorry.”

“No, fuck. I’m sorry I’m not enough for you,” he snarls, and Derek recoils. “I’m fucking sorry that I wanted money. I’m fucking sorry you didn’t love me enough to come to New York with me, and I’m fucking  _ sorry  _ I wasn’t enough for you and clearly I never will be.” Derek doubles over like the wind’s been knocked out of him, and Dex picks up his bag. “Fuck you, man. Honestly. I’m really fucking sorry that two and a half years is ending like this.” He shoves his feet in his shoes and opens the door. Derek’s still staring. “I love you so much, you know?” He shakes his head. “Fuck. Of all the ways I thought you’d leave me I never thought it’d be like this.” And then he’s gone.

—

_ now _

“You still love him,” Holster says, for the millionth time during this conversation.

“He’s the love of my life,” Derek confirms, and he lays back in the window nook. “I’m so stupid, Holtzy, how could I have just let him walk out?” His legs are dangling from the nook and he covers his face with his hands. “I have to tell him  _ I’m  _ sorry.”

“I think,” Holster starts, and then he stops. He takes a deep breath. “I think that would be wise.”

“How could—”

“You were emotional, D,” Holster says, cutting him off. “You were sad, and you missed him, and you couldn’t see another way out because you were so stuck in your head. And we’ve all been there, but I think that apologizing to him right now would be a great place to start. And he might not be receptive. But if he’s here to apologize, I think it might be okay.” 

Derek knows he’s right, but he’s spent a whole year  _ not  _ apologizing and he’d twisted his own story so much that Dex became the villain even though he knows they were both just fucking  _ sad.  _ And he doesn’t know how to apologize well. 

Holster eventually hangs up, and Derek’s left alone with his own thoughts once again, which is well and truly terrible, and he thinks back to the break up. He thinks about how many times his own mom had said, “I think if you just apologize, sweetie, he’d be willing to listen.” And how Chowder had said, “You could say sorry too, you know. I know you still love him.” And how Shitty, even through his Alaskan whaling rant, had said, “D, I just want you to be happy. And I’ve never seen you happier than when you’re with him.”

He’s  _ got  _ to apologize.

The oven beeps, and Derek knows what he has to do. He flings the guest room door open and stalks into the kitchen, where Dex is putting the flatbread on the top of the oven. He lets himself look for a moment, and just lets it go.

“You came here to apologize,” he says, and Dex jumps.

“Jesus, Nursey.”

“You came here to apologize and I’m the one who fucked this all up.” Derek looks at him, really looks, and Dex shakes his head. “You were always enough for me. Jesus. And I let you leave thinking you weren’t.”

“I said that to hurt you,” Dex says. “I meant it, then, but. You never treated me like I wasn’t. And I was just mad and that was so fucked up of me.”

“But I still let you  _ think  _ it!” Derek yells. He leans back against the counter. “Fuck. Where did we go wrong, Will?”

“I shouldn’t have left,” Dex says. “I should’ve stayed, I should’ve known—”

“How could you have?” Derek cuts in. “I never told you I wanted you to stay until you were long gone.”

“If we’re being honest right now—”

“I am,” Derek says, definitive. “I am being honest.”

“I never stopped loving you.” Dex looks up at him, open and vulnerable and so,  _ so  _ nervous. “Never once. I thought about you every goddamn day of this whole year and how much I missed you, and so I got up and left the restaurant and I fucking drove here because I just. I’m still so in love with you.”

Derek swears he has cried more in one year than he ever has before in his life, and he sinks to the floor for the third fucking time today, in full blown tears, and Dex reaches for him. Dex’s hands find his, and he thinks, distantly, this is the first time Dex has touched him in over a year, and he’s missed it. He’s shaking (or is that Dex?) and he reaches up to cup Dex’s cheek. “I’m so stupid, Will.”

Will laughs, and it’s brighter than he thinks he’s ever heard it. “We both are.”

“I love you so much,” Derek says, and Will starts crying, too. And then they’re hugging, and crying, and they’re hugging, crying messes but Will is hugging him and he’s holding Will in his arms again and he can’t stop crying, but maybe these are happy tears, this time. “I love you. I’m so  _ fucking  _ stupid, Will. I love you so,  _ so  _ much.”

“I know,” Will says. “I know. I love you too. I love you.” He kisses Derek’s forehead. “I love you.” Derek’s temple. “I love you.” Derek’s nose.

Derek leans in, then, and kisses him, finally, blessedly, for the first time in what has felt like a lifetime, and he pours everything he can into it: “I’m sorry, I love you, I missed you, I want to try again, let me try again, let me love you again, I’m so sorry.”

And the way Will kisses back, Derek thinks he gets it.

—

_ one month later _

“Is that it?” Derek hears Ransom ask as he heads back up the stairs. “Dex, if you have anything more in that car—”

“He doesn’t,” Derek says, and Ransom smiles. “I checked.”

“Oh! Good.” Ransom puts away the last mug, and Holster comes out of the guest room. “Hey, babe.”

“I’m just wondering when you’re gonna put a bed in there,” Holster says. “I would like to know.”

“Never, if you’re asking,” Will says, emerging from their—their!!—bedroom. “If Ransom’s asking though, probably next week.”

“Not fair.” Holster pouts, but he grabs Ransom’s arm and drags him toward the door. “Anyway, we will see you tomorrow! But we’ve got to feed Marina.”

“Oh, shit,” Ransom agrees. “Yeah, she’s probably going nuts by now. Tomorrow!” He points at Derek, as if that’s any sort of confirmation, and then the door is shut, and he and Will are alone. Finally.

Will is back on the couch, folded into the corner like he has been every time he sits on that couch, and Derek cuddles up to him, his head in Will’s lap. Will’s hand runs over the top of his head and ends on his forehead, and he leans down, pressing a kiss there. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Derek looks up at him, and he thinks about how goddamn lucky he is that Will wanted to try again. 

Because it could’ve gone so terribly, but Derek apologized ten times over, and Will got it, somehow, got how sorry Derek was, and miraculously wanted to be with him still. Derek knows he is so,  _ so  _ lucky. 

“You okay?” Will asks, locking his phone and putting it down. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m just thinking.” Derek sits up, hooking his chin over Will’s shoulder.

“About what?”

“About how lucky I am.” Will rolls his eyes but it’s fond. He knows it’s because he’s said those words more times than he can even imagine in the past month, and now that Will is officially moved back in, he thinks back a lot to Will showing up at his door. How he didn’t want to admit it, but the guilt had been eating at him so slowly he’d barely noticed it eroding his brain, and Will suddenly showing back up forced him to acknowledge his mistake. And Will, his beautiful Will, just came to say he still loved him. God. He’s so lucky. “I am, baby. I am lucky.”

“You’re sappy is what you are,” Will says, rolling his eyes, but he kisses Derek’s forehead. His face turns serious. “We’re good, okay?” Derek nods, and Will cups his face. “We’re good.”

Derek believes it.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! you can visit me at jackdidthat on tumblr dot com. <3


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